


La Petite Mort

by filthybonnet



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Clothed Sex, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romantic Gestures, Semi-Public Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: Set during Chapter X "The Masked Ball" of Leroux's "The Phantom of Opera" Novel. Angry at Raoul for not wanting to listen and threatening to fight the masked Red Death figure, Christine leaves him in the opera box. Wanting to find the masked Red Death figure herself, Christine heads to the next level up where she believes he is hiding in the Box of the Blind. There she finds him and her intense emotions for him.





	1. Box of the Blind

Christine turned her head slightly as she stormed away from the opera box to confirm Raoul had not followed her out. _The nerve of that man…no that boy! Thinking he can just re-enter my life and boss me around like a child!_ She found herself taking the stairs to the next level up. She leaned up against the wall and peaked over just enough to see Raoul heading down.

“Has that insolent boy taken leave?” Sure enough her Angel’s voice whispered from the Box of the Blind. His bony fingers stuck out through the door and beckoned her. 

Christine adjusted her black mask and pushed her banana curls behind her shoulders. She held her breath as she closed the distance between them. His fingers wrapped around her hand and pulled her into the box. The door closed and locked behind her. There was only a single candle in the box but when she looked down at the sitting figure she gasped and pushed herself against the door. What she saw of his skeleton mask frightened her. 

“Forgive me, my dear,” He held her hand tighter. “I am no Angel of Music tonight. I’d remove the mask but I did bring another with me.”

She calmed her breathing, “It is a beautiful costume.”

“No yours is a beautiful costume, Christine. Black Domino. I should be the White Domino on your arm but I am cursed to be Death. Why do you bother with that boy? He is no good, he distracts you. He cannot love you like I do.” Erik raised his free hand to her cheek and caressed it before running it down her neck.

Despite his outward confidence, she could still feel the slight tremors in his touch. Erik was almost always cold but his touch, just like his voice, was intoxicating. His fingers graced over the black satin of her dress’ bust and Christine’s breath hitched in her throat. There was no command but as if reading his mind, Mlle Daae slowly sat herself down on The Opera Ghost’s lap. Their faces were only inches apart and Erik felt his heart pounding in his chest and sweat build on his forehead.

Christine was hyper aware of her breathing, her cleavage rising and falling rapidly, “Erik, my Angel of Music, you scare and intoxicate me all at once. I need your music in my life.”

“Then you need me, Christine, not him. There is no music without me.” He held her head in his hands.

She lifted her hands to remove her mask.

“No!” Erik snapped. “We’re at a masquerade. Here wearing a mask we’re equals.” 

The Soprano felt a flush on her cheeks but smiled coyly as she leaned in and kissed The Phantom’s thin lips. His arms trembled as he pulled her into an embrace. 

“I am not worthy of you,” he whispered between kisses he placed on her neck and cleavage. He moved his fingers so they cupped her breasts. “You are the angel to give such a monster such beauty.” 

With a rustle of skirts, Mlle Daae resituated herself so straddled Erik’s lap as she leaned in to kiss him again. Despite their masks she felt his tears drop onto her chest. She opened her mouth, making their kiss more passionate, deeper. She felt both their bodies awakening the way they did to music, but she also felt heat coming off of Erik’s body. Their physical passion always brought him heat. She fumbled with the buttons on his fussy jacket and then his coattail and shirt. She placed her hands on his chest and felt his pounding heart through his ribs.

“Only for you Christine,” He wrapped his hands around he wrists. He pushed his groin up into her so she felt his full erection. “Only for you do I come so alive.”

Christine rested her forehead on his shoulder as he let go of her wrists and snaked one of his arms up her skirts. She quickly ignored the annoyance of her mask digging into her skin as Erik’s lanky fingers found the slit in her bloomers. The Ghost’s fingers had made quick study of what made his angel sing and in such risqué place he wanted to make sure no time was lost. The calloused tip of his index finger ran between her folds, collecting her juices before pushing into the plump bud at the top of her sex and rubbing circles.

“Oh! Oh!” The Soprano exclaimed. She lifted her hands to hold onto Erik’s arms, gathering the puffy fabric of his sleeves in her hands as he continued to increase her pleasure. She whimpered into his neck as the tingle in between her legs intensified and she felt her muscles start constrict as she approached the edge of paroxysm. 

Erik’s finger stopped and he pulled away. Christine lifted her head and her eyes met his. The yellow glowed brighter than she had ever seen. He lifted his other hand and ran his fingers down her cheek, neck and over her bust.

“May I?” He asked. 

Christine dug her fingers deeper into his sleeves. Raoul’s words suddenly entered her mind: _“Why did you give such hopes to an honest man who believed you were an honest woman…”_

 _Was that all he was concerned with?_ The emotions right here in this opera box were more honest than anything he had ever said to her. 

“Yes, you may.” 

He kissed her lightly, “Thank you, Christine.”

Under the layers of fabric, Christine felt his shaking hands unbutton his pants and remove his erect organ. She pulled herself closer to him, and spread her legs wider. They were intimate a couple times in their fortnight together but never in this position.

“Why do you shake, Erik?”

“You are so beautiful and give me such a personal gift. I am not worthy.”

“You are because I want this too.”

He smiled wide and she felt his touch stabilize as he gently guided the warm tip of his manhood up into her. Christine sighed in pleasure as she slowly lowered herself down taking the rest of him inside her. However, the gentleness ended there. Christine wanting to get close to her paroxysm again moved up and down on Erik’s member swiftly. He returned her enthusiasm by pushing back up at the same rhythm.

“Oh Christine…Christine…” He moaned into her hair. He wrapped one arm around her waist. The other remained under her skirts and once again found her plump bud and traced circles into it.

Christine closed her eyes and tilted her head back and moaned. She dug her fingers deeper into his slender arms, “More, more, more…” 

Erik pumped harder from below and pushed his finger harder into that little mound. It felt like he was playing a delicate instrument bringing it to a beautiful crescendo. He felt himself getting close to his release. _No, no, no. She must die first._ He slowed his movement letting Christine take control except when it came to teasing her pleasure mound.

The Soprano leaned into his face now. “Erik, Oh Erik…” She whimpered. Christine felt her sex constrict around his member followed by a rush of throbs as she achieved her little death. Ripples rushed up her spine as she ceased moving and moaned. 

The constriction and throbs of Christine’s sex against his erection sent Erik over the edge. He groaned and spilled his seed. He sank back into the seat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breath. He gathered Christine into his arms and as he did she lifted up and his now flaccid penis slipped out. He rubbed his boney fingers up and down her back as she rested her head on his angular shoulder.

For a brief moment in the darkness of the box and in their bliss the rest of the world melted away.

“Thank you Christine, thank you…” he whispered in her ear.

She lifted her head, “I must go, Angel. They will wonder where I am.”

“They or _him_?”

She took his face into her hands, her fingers curling under the edges of his skull mask, “How dare you, after what we just shared!”

He lifted one of her hands and brought it to his lips and kissed it, “Forgive me. I just do not want to give you up now.”

“Come and take me away tonight, Erik. We can make music and I can stay the night.”

Erik smiled and as he held her hand he looked at the ring on his pinky. An idea ran through his mind. _I shall give her this ring. Make her mine officially in claiming her as my fiancée._ “I shall and I shall have a surprise for you tonight.”

Christine stood up but grabbed the wall of the box, finding her knees still weak. She adjusted her skirts.

“Do you need a handkerchief?”

Mlle Daae turned to The Phantom, “Do you have one? That would be nice.”

He pulled one out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She turned away from him, bent down, lifted her skirts and wiped up between her thighs. When she turned back around Erik had readjusted and pants, shirt and jacket were buttoned up. He stood up and took the handkerchief from Christine’s small hand and stuffed it back into his pocket. He then adjusted her mask so it was in line with her face.

“Go. They can’t see us together.”

Christine unlocked the door and smiled at her Angel of Music as she shut the door. The Phantom blew out the candle and stood in the dark of the Box of the Blind. _Yes, tonight would be a wonderful extension of this. And she will be mine._ He might have been dressed as The Red Death, but tonight together they would die time and time again.


	2. Danse Macabre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always intended this story to be a one shot. However as I got such wonderful response from it here, ff.net and the phandom; I decided I could work out a second chapter of what happens that night. I hope you all enjoy it, it was more a struggle to write than I thought it would be.

Behind the mirror and down the halls and labyrinth to his lair, Christine and Erik continued their duet. Once they reached the front door of his little lake house only did they stop singing. Erik unlocked the door, opened it and locked it behind them.

“I am glad you did not change,” Christine touched her fingers to the ruffle of his jacket. “I was hoping for another glance of your Red Death.”

“Is my appearance as regular death not enough?” He removed his flamboyant feathered hat and hung it on a hook.

She ignored his question and walked over to the chaise lounge and sat down, “Have you composed any new pieces?” 

“I have,” Erik walked over to her and kneeled at the hem of her skirt. He bent his head into her lap. 

Christine took a deep breath and lifted her fingers to the sides of his skeleton mask. She despised unmasking him. No matter her feelings, no matter how many times she had seen him without it, it was always jarring. It was her own fault. If she had never removed his mask that first time, he would not make her do this every time. She moved one of her hands up and ran her fingers through the thin strands of his hair. She gently massaged the taut exposed skin of his scalp. Christine knew she was just trying to delay the inevitable, but she also knew how much Erik loved his hair touched. 

“Oh, Christine…Christine…” The Phantom grabbed at her skirt and balled the black satin into his hands. He lifted his head, “Kiss me.”

Christine leaned over and kissed his thin lips, her cheeks pushing into the cool porcelain of his mask. He returned it so passionately, his hands balling tighter. She pulled away, “Wind up the music box, we didn’t get to dance tonight.”

Erik smiled as he stood up and took large strides to his music box. He wound it up excessively as Christine walked over to him. He smiled so rarely and that wide, she felt his genuine joy instead of desperation. He turned around and took her hand, “Danse Macabre, mademoiselle?” He then wrapped his other shaking arm around her waist leading her in a simple waltz. Erik moved with grace and a liveliness that his ghastly appearance did not suggest. 

When the music stopped Christine laughed and clapped, “Oh Erik you are such a wonderful dancer! So much better than…” She cut herself off.

His golden eyes behind the mask pierced her, “Better than that boy?!”

Christine turned away from him. She watched the candles on the wall holders flicker, “Erik, please don’t.”

“Don’t what, Christine?” He wrapped his long, bony fingers around her shoulders. “Remind you, that you choose to be with me, the living corpse, over that beautiful boy? That you promised yourself to music…”

“His brother is a great patron to the opera! We do not want to lose that money!” Christine turned and faced him and then raised her fingers to his mask. “I came to spend a lovely night with you, Erik, not discuss this. You know how I feel, how I am bound to you.”  
The Opera Ghost quickly lifted his hands, grabbing Christine’s wrists, “Erik will keep the mask on tonight.”

Christine smiled softly, “Oh Erik, if I would have known I would have brought my Domino mask with me.”

“No, no mask for you now, my angel. I wish to see your every expression as you continue to give me a gift I am not worthy of,” with those slender arms The Phantom picked Christine up in a bridal carry and whisked her off into her bedroom. There were very few candles lit in this room but she could smell several bouquets of roses. He placed her gently on the bed and his nimble fingers went to work on the row of buttons on the back of her dress. 

He pushed it off her shoulders and kissed her exposed back, “The whole night, Christine?”

She wrapped one of his arms around her waist, “That is what I said. As fun as our tryst in the box was, I know how much you want me by your side as long as possible.”

Erik lifted his lips to her neck and sucked gently as his hands pushed the top off of her. Christine stood and, still sitting on the bed, Erik undid the buttons of her dress and ties of her bustle and petticoat. After he pushed them down, Christine stepped out of them and walked over to vanity, whose mirror was covered with a black cloth. She bent over one of the bouquet of roses in a vase and took a deep breath inhaling their scent. 

She looked over her shoulder, “Erik, do you think me wanton?”

“No! No!” He exclaimed. “Oh Christine! Christine!” He ran to her, pulled her into his arms tightly. “How dare you even think…did that wretched boy put that thought into your mind? Because you’re in my arms instead of his?” He kissed her neck as he ran his bony finger up her corset and cupped her breasts through her chemise. “Would he say such a thing if you were in his bed? No.”

Her nipples harden under his hands and he pinched them between his index finger and thumb. Miss Daae closed her eyes, sighed and leaned back against his lithe frame. She could already feel his erect member pushing through his trousers. She placed her open palm on his thigh and ran it up, curving it in allowing it grace that firm length. 

A gurgle escaped his throat, “Ah, My Christine, I might not think you wanton but you are my little minx.” He raised his hands to her back and loosened the laces of her corset before wrapping them back around the front and unhooked the grommets. He took the corset and draped it over the footboard of the bed. Erik ran his fingers down the curves of Christine’s body until he found the slit in her bloomers. The pads of his fingers were lightly tickled by the hair here before running his fingers up and down her sex.

Christine turned and gasped into his neck, “Erik.”

He turned her around and leaned in and kissed her. He then took her by the hand and led her back to the bed, “My Angel, My minx.” The Phantom sat her down on the edge of the bed and got down on his knees. He lifted her left foot and removed her shoe before removing the other. He then got back up on the bed, removed his shoes before removing her chemise. He ran his finger through her hair as he turned and placed kisses on her chest. 

“Erik…” The Soprano whispered. “My Angel of Music; a real man who loves me,” She fumbled at the buttons on his jacket as he hovered over her. Frustrated Christine sat up on her knees, “This beautiful costume is now pure torture!” Once up she found the buttons and popped them open easier. Erik shed the jacket like a cocoon before removing his waistcoat himself. He cupped his hands around Christine’s breasts as he leaned over and kissed her. 

Christine wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed. She felt a wet trickle between her thighs as the tingle there intensified. She slowly moved one of her hands on top of his and guided it down her body to the slit between her bloomers. “Angel, I ache.”

“Maybe you are wanton, my little vixen,” The Opera Ghost mocked into her ear. He moved one of his long fingers between her folds feeling her slick and eager. He pushed the calloused tip into her swollen bud and Christine moaned. He pushed in harder as he rubbed in a circular motion, her wetness aiding him. She moaned louder. “Yes, sing; sing for me,” He leaned in and kissed her neck. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck tight, trying to brace herself for that sweet release as she bucked against his finger, feeling herself constrict, her lips tightening around his finger. Erik pushed another finger between her folds aiding him in his task.   
“Angel! Oh Angel!” Christine moaned, breath labored just as a jolt pushed her into her little death. 

Erik felt her pulsing against his hand just as a little bit of fluid pooled into his palm. Christine collapsed back onto the bed, her breasts rising and falling fast as she gasped for breath, a grin on her face. Erik brought his mouth down to his hand and licked it clean of his Angel’s nectar. He undid his suspenders and removed his red pants, dropping them to the floor.

As he crawled to be over Christine, she lifted her hands to the skeleton mask, “Take it off, you’ll be more comfortable.”

“But I know despite how you feel or how I just made you feel, my face…”

Christine in a haze of bliss, pulled the mask from his face, “I love you, Erik. All of you.” 

He did not stop her or shrink away when it was done. Erik pulled at the ribbon at waist of bloomers undoing it, pushing them to her ankles and pulling them away. They floated down to the bed like a feather. He sat back up on his knees and beheld the vision that was Christine: her porcelain smooth skin that was now flushed, the full locks around her head like a halo, the pink peaks of her breasts, the dark hair of her womanhood glistening, her blue eyes looking up at him longingly instead on in disgust. Tears rolled down his cheeks. _Oh to be loved, finally loved!_

Erik crawled back on top of Christine and as he kissed her, he unbuttoned his drawers and removed his erection. 

“Erik,” She pulled away from his thin lips and took his cheek into her hand. “Why do you never fully undress? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable?”

“I am fine. My body is as scarred as my face, Angel. Maybe someday but not tonight.”

Christine nodded her head as she spread her legs wider. Then in one gentle thrust he filled her completely: he sighed in ecstasy; she cried at suddenly being full. Erik braced himself by placing his lanky hands firmly on the mattress on both sides of Christine’s head. He pushed in and out slow and gentle, the opposite of their earlier coupling. She lifted her stocking covered legs and wrapped them around his lithe frame. She scratched at the sheets, whimpered and moaned as she pushed back into Erik’s now deep plunges. 

But The Soprano wanted more. She pulled at the ruffled neckline of his shirt tearing it open. She scratched at his scarred skin, pulling him closer to her; kissing his collar bone, throat as she ran her hands down his back separating his shirt from his skin as perspiration stuck it here. 

“My Christine…My Christine…” He mumbled into her hair. He inhaled smelling what hints of rosewater made it to what olfactory glands he possessed. He bundled her up into his arms and turned them so they were on their sides. His manhood slipped out but he swiftly guided it back into Christine’s wet warmth. His golden eyes met her blue as his hand that was already between their legs once again found that little pleasure mound she enjoyed so much. The Phantom pushed into it as he thrust faster. 

Christine’s nails dug into his back as she cried out in pleasurable surprise, “Yes, there! Please…please!” 

Erik continued his actions just a bit longer before froze mid thrust as his paroxysm spilled his seed. He rested his forehead on Angel’s chest as he continued to rub her little bud. “Die for me, please, please die for me,” he mumbled into her breasts.

“Erik…Erik…Angel…” Christine rocked back and forth against his finger. “Faster, Angel...faster!”

Erik eagerly obliged, even gave a few more pushes inside her. Shortly after he did, she wrapped her hands tight around his boney shoulder blades and moaned as her release rolled through her womanhood. Her whole body collapsed and as she did his now flaccid member slipped out, a mixture of their juices dribbled down her thighs and some onto the bed.

“Oh, my Angel of Music,” Christine sighed breathless as she turned and laid on her back. 

Despite his also labored breaths, Erik sat up, finished unbuttoning his shirt and used it to gently to clean up between her legs. He discarded it to the foot of the bed, pulling the sheets up, covering both their bodies before taking Christine’s head on top of his narrow chest. The cool air was silent for several minutes except for their labored breathing returning to normal. 

Erik ran his fingers through her curls. “What did I, a monster, do to deserve such a pure angel?” 

“Erik, quit questioning yourself. Quit questioning my love.”

As he lifted his fingers up, The Opera Ghost caught the sight of his ring. _Now, now or never. Ask her._ “Christine, may I ask you a question?”

She lifted herself off his chest and looked down at him. A slight gasp escaped her lips, a mind clear now and his face putting her off a bit. She turned it into a sigh, “Erik, I told you to stop questioning.”

“No, no, this is a good question,” He lifted his hand up and caressed her cheek. “Have you ever thought about the promise of an engagement?”

“I am my own mistress. Besides I thought the Angel of Music wanted me to have no commitment before music.” She smirked at him, as she tapped the little nub above where his nose should have been.

“What if you were committed to The Angel of Music?” 

Christine sat up and wrapped the sheet around her nude body, suddenly feeling vulnerable. The color left her cheeks, “Erik, what do you mean?”

He sat up and took the ring off his pinky finger, “Christine, Erik love you. Say you will only be Erik’s. Say you will have no other master other than music, knowing that Erik and music are one and the same; knowing that you cannot have one without the other. Say you will be Erik’s living bride and make him the happiest man in the world.”

The Soprano brought her hand to her mouth. _How can I say no? All we have shared, all he has given me with only wanting love in return? He only wants a promise and have we not already done that through our music, through our bodies?_ She nodded her head. 

“Say it, Christine. Yes or no,” The Phantom’s voice was firm. “Only music and Erik. No more humoring that insolent boy to spare his feelings. It breaks Erik’s heart.”

_Oh Raoul! How he was going to make something as simple as this difficult!_ “Yes Erik, yes.”

Those golden eyes lit up like the candles in the room as a smile spread across those thin lips. “Oh Christine…MY Christine!” Shaking he took her left hand and slipped his ring on her ring finger. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he leaned in and kissed his new fiancée. 

Christine brought her hands to his cheeks and wiped the tears away, feeling his deformities in a new disposition. The band of metal was warm against her skin. Between the sheets it was so easy to make a promise, especially as she gently guided him back down onto the mattress, their lips never leaving each other’s. Christine was still her own mistress but being Death’s willing fiancée filled her heart with joy.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this checking off a few challenges at once on a couple different Phantom of the Opera Kinktober lists: Public Sex, Cowgirl, Through Clothes


End file.
